[Image: Anne Lee]
A shadow moving by ones side
That would a substance seem
That is yet is not—though descried
Like skyes beneath the stream
A thing thats ever on the bloom,
Whose fruit is never rife
A wish for joys that never come
Such are the hopes of Life
That is yet is not—though descried
Like skyes beneath the stream
A thing thats ever on the bloom,
Whose fruit is never rife
A wish for joys that never come
Such are the hopes of Life
A dark & unavoided night
A blank that will remain
A waiting for the morning light
Were waiting is in vain
A gulph were path way never led
To show the depth beneath
A thing we know not yet we dread
The horrid sound—tis death
The vaulted void of purple skye
That every were extends
That stretches from the dazzld eye
In space that never ends
Wave chasing wave unceasing never
Along the mighty sea
That rolls in majesty for ever
Such is Eternity
Arthur Symons,
Poems by John Clare
(London:
Henry Frowde, 1908)
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